


Holding Pattern

by boxparade



Series: All The Pretty Things That We Could Be [8]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Coming Out, Divorce, Infidelity, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve may have his toothbrush back by the sink, but it’s only because there’s nowhere else to put it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Pattern

It’s been nine weeks. Nine weeks of nothing but a holding pattern, with a few blips on the radar.

The divorce whizzed by so quickly that Tony barely had time to react before it was over and done with. Despite Steve’s lawyer’s best efforts, Peggy got herself a pretty good deal. Steve doesn’t seem to mind. Tony just keeps thanking his lucky stars that Pepper didn’t try to take him for all he was worth when they got divorced, though truthfully, the only thing he really cared about in that whole mess was Peter.

Steve keeps looking for his own place. When he’s not working, he’s out with realtors, looking at apartments. He’s started carrying around newspapers with him everywhere, always opened to the Real Estate section and marked all to hell with pen. Tony’s glad that he isn’t just sitting around morosely, wallowing in his own self-pity, but another part of him hopes it takes awhile for Steve to find a place. That maybe, he’ll just stop looking and keep on living here with Tony.

But of course, that isn’t sensible at all. Steve may be out and proud or whatever it is he’s claiming to be now, but that doesn’t fix things. Tony is still pissed. Steve is still sleeping on the couch. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way they both hover like zombies over their morning coffee, or how Tony will come home some days only to find the TV already tuned in to Discovery Channel and dinner in the oven.

It’s all sickeningly domestic, and Tony finds himself wishing each and every time that this was really their life. That maybe, in some alternate universe, Steve and Tony met when they were younger. When they weren’t so set in their ways.

In his head, neither of them had girlfriends or wives or even bothered with the female sex. Both of them got past their own hang-ups about being gay and they started dating like a normal couple, and they moved in together like a normal couple, and they’re starting to settle down like a goddamn normal couple and it’s all just a fucking fantasy that doesn’t relate to real life. No matter how much he wants it to.

Which he isn’t even sure if he wants. Tony hasn’t forgiven Steve. Hell, Tony’s still working on forgiving himself. Steve still sleeps on the couch, and Tony still keeps himself at arm’s length. Steve may have his toothbrush back by the sink, but it’s only because there’s nowhere else to put it.

He’s still living out of the duffel bag he keeps at the foot of the couch. Some of his shit from the house wound up in boxes that are now shoved into a corner somewhere until further notice.

There are no casual touches. There’s none of the warmth that Tony remembers from when they were fooling around, during those lazy afternoons or late nights where they both tried to pretend, just for a moment, that what they had was real. No wives or girlfriends or lies, just them and love and happiness.

Tony keeps himself at arm’s length, and Steve keeps his stuff out of Tony’s way, and neither of them say half of the things they want to say. For now, it works.

Yeah, it hurts like hell sometimes when Steve forgets to bring clothes into the shower, and Tony catches his towel-clad body bending over his duffel and is hit with a wave of desire so strong that his knees nearly give out. He has a permanent bruise on his lip from where he bites it to keep from saying things that they don’t say anymore.

But they have what they need to have. They do what they need to do right now. They stick to the holding pattern because it works, and because neither of them are in a place to deal with any more uncertainty. Considering all the rules, and Tony’s tendency to never, ever abide by them, he’s surprised that it’s gone as well as it has.

Really, he should’ve expected it all to fall apart.

It starts when Bruce decides to stop by. Tony cannot, for the life of him, figure out why Bruce suddenly felt the urge to visit Tony around seven in the evening without so much as a text. But he rings the buzzer, and because Tony is literally buried under machinery, Steve goes and lets him in.

And then Bruce freaks the fuck out, as he should, when he figures out who Steve is.

Things ended amicably between them. Bruce understood way better than Tony would’ve given him credit for, and they were still great friends, and they still talk all the time, mostly about science. Bruce knows absolutely everything that happened. About Pepper, about Steve, about the giant, sprawling mess that is Tony Stark’s Life.

And Bruce is a very smart guy. It doesn’t take much for him to piece things together. He sees Steve answering the door, and he sees an apartment clearly lived in by two people, and he sees Steve’s blond hair and blue eyes. He gathers that Steve is Steve, and he’s living with Tony, and that’s when he starts yelling.

Tony scrambles out from underneath his machinery pretty damn quick after that. Bruce comes flying into the room moments after he stands, with Steve standing worriedly behind Bruce, and Bruce is no longer yelling but just glaring at Tony. But Tony can tell he’s pissed. And getting Bruce pissed is never a good thing, because once Bruce gets angry, he stays angry for a good long while, and his anger is…different than most people. It’s scary.

Bruce turns on his heel and says to Steve “We need a moment alone.” Then he slams the door in Steve’s face and turns back to Tony.

Tony immediately sticks his hands up and says “I can explain.”

“I damn well hope so. Tony, you’re _living with Steve.”_

“It’s only temporary!” he argues defensively.

“Oh, well, that makes it all okay. _How long_ has this ‘temporary’ arrangement been going on?”

Tony pauses before he answers, but Bruce just crosses his arms over his chest and waits him out. “Two months,” Tony answers quietly.

“Tony!”

“He’s got nowhere else to go, Bruce!”

“What, and you suddenly developed Lost Puppy Syndrome and took him in? This is a bad idea!”

“I know that!” Tony snaps, because damn if he doesn’t know. They shouldn’t be living together. He never should’ve agreed to let Steve stay in the first place. It’s too close, too fast, and they denied each other the one thing they both needed after this whole mess: space.

“So then why?” Bruce asks.

Tony shrugs derisively and looks away. “There was no one left to give a shit about him. That’s a crappy feeling, Bruce.” He meets Bruce’s eyes. He doesn’t need to explain to him. Of all the people Tony’s ever been with, he thinks he was the most honest and open with Bruce. Some of the things Bruce knows, mostly about the situation with Steve and about Tony’s father, he never spoke a word of to Pepper. Bruce knows all his hang-ups and vices and weak spots, and Tony can’t lie to him. Sometimes he wonders if he’d only been that honest with Pepper, if maybe things wouldn’t have blown up so spectacularly.

Bruce just shakes his head and says “It’s not your job to save him.”

“No, but it’s my fault he needs saving in the first place,” Tony shoots back instantly, raw and honest. Bruce’s eyes soften with sympathy.

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s no one’s fault.” Bruce sighs exasperatedly, almost resigned, and runs a hand through his hair. Tony gets inexplicably distracted by Bruce’s fingers, strong and firm. He shakes himself out of it before things get awkward. “Tony, this is headed for disaster and you know it.”

“But why?” He argues. “Why can’t we just—” he waves a hand around helplessly, “what’s the problem with it? We’re not doing anything. We barely even talk.”

Bruce shakes his head slowly. “It doesn’t matter, Tony.”

“It’s fucking stupid!” He shouts, indignant. He knows Bruce is right, he just doesn’t want him to be. He wants things to be damn easy for once. Just for once. “We’re grown adults, not squabbling children! We can make our own decisions.”

“Oh, yeah, and adults haven’t been known to make fucking _stupid_ decisions,” Bruce scoffs.

“But why is it so stupid? In your _infinite wisdom,_ why the hell is this such a bad idea?”

“Because you’re still in love with him,” Bruce states calmly; effectively.

Fuck if Tony has any way to respond to that. He can’t even deny it, because Bruce knows exactly how Tony feels. It’s the whole reason they broke up in the first place. Because Bruce was looking for someone to share his life with, completely, and Tony was still hung up on the damn closet case that used to be his secret lover. Real healthy, that. Tony makes the best choices in life.

Tony can’t stand looking at Bruce’s pity anymore, so he turns around and lets his eyes wander over the mess of machinery and tools, trying to calm his breathing. Bruce is right. Bruce is always right, but sometimes Tony likes to pretend that he’d be able to function on his own. He doesn’t need Bruce to manage his life, even if that so-called life would be more of a walking disaster by now without him.

“Tony…” Bruce trails off, and Tony feels a warm, heavy hand close around his shoulder. He hunches into himself and ducks his head in shame. None of this was supposed to happen. Things were supposed to get better after he finally got away from his awful father. He had his own company, a beautiful family, a less-than-perfect but still carefully crafted public persona.

Instead, things had to keep on crashing down around him, because if the media ever got something wrong, it was that Tony led a charmed fucking life, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the rest of the silverware on rush delivery to his doorstep. Instead, he was stuck with a burning pile of shit.

“I don’t want to give up,” Tony says meekly; small.

Bruce sighs. “I know. But it’s not giving up, not really. It’s letting go. It’s learning to not hold on so tightly, letting the pieces fall however they may, and hoping for the best. It’s all you can do.”

Tony shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t say _I can keep him here. I was raised to fight to the death for the things that I want in life. I don’t know how to let go. I don’t want to. Haven’t I lost enough already? Shouldn’t I get to fight for what I want? Don’t I deserve a chance? Don’t I get a say in any of this? Because I am fucking sick of losing things. I’ve lost enough. I’m not losing him, too._

Instead, he just stands there, breathing in the oily scent of his workroom, drawing as much comfort and warmth from Bruce’s hand as he’s able, and trying not to shake apart.

Outside, Steve leans against the wall beside the door, wondering _haven’t I given enough already? Isn’t it about time for me to fight for what_ ** _I_** _want, for once?_

Because if Tony’s letting go, then Steve is damn well going to hold on as tightly as he can. He made that mistake once, he’s not going to make it again.

He’s not going to lose Tony again.


End file.
